


I'm begging of you please don't take my man

by outlier



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Crack, F/F, One Shot, bisexual awakening
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-12
Updated: 2017-08-12
Packaged: 2018-12-14 12:03:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11782776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/outlier/pseuds/outlier
Summary: Clarke isn't even that interested in Finn until she learns she might have competition. Competition with disgustingly pouty lips and adorably tiny ears...





	I'm begging of you please don't take my man

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on a very loose interpretation of 'Jolene' by Dolly Parton because a) Dolly Parton is awesome and b) I will fight anyone who dares to claim that Jolene isn't one of the best songs ever. 
> 
> Why is this a loose interpretation? The song is ostensibly about begging another woman to not steal away her man, but you can't convince me the real underlying theme is anything other than the obvious crush on with this supposed romantic rival. I mean, I know I'd describe another woman in this totally platonic way if I felt she was going to steal someone away from me: "Your beauty is beyond compare/With flaming locks of auburn hair/With ivory skin and eyes of emerald green"
> 
> Additionally, you should not take any of this seriously. This is not a deeply thoughtful work. :)

Lexa doesn’t dislike Finn Collins. She doesn’t care about him at all, really. He’s just one more dudebro in an endless parade of dudebros because she tends bar at a sports-themed pub just off a college campus and it’s pretty much a dudebro stomping ground. Only, Finn Collins has somehow gotten it into his head that _they’re_ dudebros. Like, the two of them.

She supposes there are worse ways for straight boys to react to being turned down because of a general disinterest in dick.

“You have to do this for me,” he’s saying, eyes wide and pleading, and she’s not here for this wacky romcom shit. Not in the slightest.

She wipes at a wet spot on the bar and regards him with a look she hopes conveys just how little she wants to be involved in any of this. “This is the stupidest plan you’ve ever had. Just tell the girl how much you like her.”

“But I’m hovering on friendzone,” he pleads, and Lexa winces, because if she never has to hear that word again, it’ll be too soon. “I was trying the soft approach and didn’t turn it around in time.”

She doesn’t even want to know what _turning it around_ means to him, but she suspects it has something to do with an elaborate and unnecessary plan to prove his _sensitive guy_ bona fides on his way to trying to steal second.

“Don’t involve me in your schemes.”

“Okay, okay,” he offers placatingly. “How about this… you don’t actively participate but you don’t actively not participate either.”

She just looks at him, feeling a grinding sense of inevitability creep over her.

“You don’t have to confirm. Just, you know, be you and acknowledge my existence and look hot and avoid answering any questions directly. Maybe smile at me. That’s all.”

“Finn, there is literally nothing in the world I could care less about than helping you get in this girl’s pants.”

“Come on, Lex. Don’t make me invoke the bro code.”

She still can’t pinpoint any specific action she might have taken that would have convinced him that she a) did not want to punch him in the face any time he called her Lex or b) was in any shape, form, or fashion a/his bro. It has never been fully explained to her how a shared inability to resist the wiles of pretty girls secured her unwilling entry into this club or made her beholden to rules she’s never agreed to follow, and yet she has secured a dudebro much as a ship’s hull secures a barnacle.

From the way he’s looking at her, she thinks he’s going for winsome or endearing. She wonders if that kind of thing works with straight girls. She wonders if she’s ever used that look herself, and finds the notion vaguely horrifying. Could she have been infected with bro? There are certainly plenty of vectors in her vicinity.

“You should find some other place to drink, Finn,” she says, still working on convincing herself that she has never, ever shared any sort of inveigling methods with Finn Collins. “Don’t you see enough of this place when you’re on shift?”

He grins at her, as if they’ve reached some kind of amicable arrangement, and Lexa wonders if maybe there’s a critical defect somewhere deep within his brain. It’s the only reason she can think of for why he looks at her as if they’ve entered into a sacred pact. “So, it’s a go,” he says with a wiggle of the eyebrows, off to rejoin his friends before she can protest yet again. When he gets there, he shoots her a thumbs up.

She doesn’t return it.

\------

Clarke is only half listening to Finn because it’s better that way, when she doesn’t have to consciously absorb all of the things he says. It’s not that he’s unlikable. It’s more that he’s fully bought into the school of thought that gentle teasing and persistent irritation will woo her, and there’s only so many times she can actively listen to him call her Princess before she gets snappy.

She doesn’t like getting snappy. In fact, she actively avoids it.

“Oh, look,” he says, and it’s so weirdly stilted that she’s drawn back into the conversation despite herself. She does look, and sees that they’ve taken a shortcut that’ll take them behind the bar where Finn works. The back door is open and there’s a delivery truck idling and Clarke sees a girl laughing with scrawny guy in a beer distributor’s uniform.

She’s not sure what she’s supposed to be looking at, so she waits.

“That’s Lexa,” Finn confides, indicating the girl with his chin. “We work together. She wants me. Bad. I’ve been putting her off because there’s someone else I really want to be with, but…”

Clarke looks at the girl and then to Finn. She looks back to the girl – takes in the lean, muscular silhouette of her arms and the sharp cut of her jaw – and looks back to Finn.

No. This won’t do. This girl and Finn? Not acceptable.

\------

Lexa looks up from restocking the beer cooler just in time to see a blur of blonde fury headed toward her with destructive purpose.

“What do you want with Finn.”

She doesn’t even ask. She _demands_.

“I don’t want anything to do with Finn,” Lexa answers honestly.

The girl’s scowl deepens. “I know all about you,” she snaps, and Lexa has to wonder how because she’s never seen this girl before. She knows. She’d remember. “Don’t think I don’t know what game you’re playing.”

“I’m not playing a game?”

“He’s mine.” The girl’s eyes narrow and Lexa feels a moment of incipient panic because she’s oddly frightening for 5 foot 5 in skinny jeans and ballet flats. “You might have the delicate, graceful neck of a Thomson’s gazelle but don’t think that means I’m not going to fight for him.”

She’s gone before Lexa tells her she can have him, leaving Lexa there with her hand unconsciously tracing down her neck, because _what_?

\------

“I saw her today.”

“Who?”

“Lexa.” The name comes out as a hiss, but Clarke is too furious to worry about it. “You should see her, O. I can’t believe he’d be interested in her.” For a moment, the fury overwhelms. “Her eyes are so green. Dark. Maybe emerald. And her hair… don’t even get me started on her hair. It’s so thick, and she wears it down but with these little braids. There’s just so much of it. It’s all over the place. It’s the kind of hair you could really dig your fingers into and pull to get her just where you want her. I bet her sex hair is spectacular.”

Octavia just blinks at her, and Clarke doesn’t understand why she’s not similarly furious. It’s practically a BFF regulation – all best friends must share in the anger directed toward the object of affection of an object of affection.

“And her lips, Octavia. They’re so pouty. It’s disgusting.”

Clarke can feel her blood pressure skyrocket at just the memory.

“So you’re… mad? At this girl?”

She doesn’t know why Octavia sounds so confused.

“She’s trying to steal Finn,” she says simply, as if that should explain _everything_.

“Finn Collins?”

“What other Finn do we know?”

Octavia has moved beyond sounding confused to looking confused, and Clarke’s honestly starting to worry about her mental faculties. “I thought you were trying to figure out a way to offload Finn, though? You said he was getting kind of creepy?”

“I never said that.”

“I’m pretty sure you sent a text last week saying exactly that.”

She extracts Octavia’s phone from her hand before she can get off-track. “Focus, Octavia. I’m not going to let her just waltz in and take him from me.”

“I have to be honest with you, because I’m your friend,” Octavia says, looking at Clarke as if she’s a wild beast about to go on a rampage. “I think you should.”

\------

Clarke would prefer to have backup on this mission, but Octavia had rolled her eyes and turned back to scrolling through Instagram on her phone instead of agreeing immediately.

It’s possible she needs better friends. More supportive ones, at the very least.

“I’m not going to help you stalk this girl,” Octavia had said, shaking her head sadly at Clarke, who was dressed head to toe in black. “What I will do is strongly urge you to reconsider this course of action.”

She can do it herself. It would be nice to have a co-conspirator, but if Octavia is going to ignore Clarke’s quest for true happiness via the elimination of this infuriating romantic rival, then she’ll do it alone. It’s a simple enough task to skulk in her car, hunched over so she’s barely visible, until Lexa’s shift is finished.

A hard knock on the window rouses her from an impromptu nap, and Clarke jolts awake.

“Hey,” a voice says, muffled but clear, and it takes Clarke a moment to realize just who is standing beside her car. “You can’t sleep here.”

It’s the temptress in the flesh.

She improvises. “I was waiting on Finn.”

The girl looks ridiculously unconcerned. “Okay. You still can’t sleep here.” There’s a pause and a cautious look. “You know Finn’s not even working tonight, right?”

Clarke had not known that but doesn’t feel the need to share that fact.

“Whatever.” She turns the key in the ignition and Lexa takes a startled step back. “Just keep your beautiful emerald eyes off of him.”

\------

Finn slides into the chair next to her at the library with a, “Hey Princess.”

“Finn,” she says, because she doesn’t want to encourage him. She doesn’t have time for him right now. She’s too busy planning out the next stage in her campaign to make Lexa understand that Finn is off the market.

“Want to get lunch with me?” he offers, and she’s about to tell him no when he adds, “We can go by the pub. Lexa’s on the lunch shift today. She asked me to drop by. You don’t mind if I go see her, right? She said she wanted to see me and I don’t want to hurt her feelings.”

She sees now. Lexa is _sneaky_.

“Lunch,” she says, already calculating. “Yes. Let’s go to lunch.”

\------

Lexa is behind the bar so they sit at the bar because why else would Lexa have invited Finn to drop by if not to further her plot to ensnare him? And Finn, poor, susceptible Finn, falls right into her trap.

“What are you drinking?” Lexa asks, dropping napkins and cardboard coasters in front of them with a disarming nonchalance that does not fool Clarke even one bit. Clarke has to give her props, though. Lexa maintains the nonchalance all the way through delivering drinks, delivering entrees, and delivering the check. She looks at Finn with a strangely apathetic intensity. Sweet, naïve Finn positively preens under it.

Clarke waits until Finn excuses himself to the bathroom to make her move.

“You should stay away from Finn,” she says, catching Lexa’s wrist as she reaches to clear their plates.

She’d been expecting fire in response to her warning, but Clarke finds Lexa strangely resigned. “Trust me, I would if I could, but we work together. I have to see him, whether I want to or not.”

Clarke’s jaw sets because she sees how it is. That’s the way Lexa is going to play this, as if she’s uninterested. She’s going to pretend like she’s not a threat and then snatch Finn away from her once her guard’s lowered, but now that Clarke’s onto her, there’s going to be no lowering of the guard.

 _Trust her_? There is no trust.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing,” Clarke snarls, giving Lexa a one-over. “You can pretend you’re not trying to tempt him away with your flawless skin and the way your ass looks absolutely amazing in those jeans, but we both know better. I’ll fight for him. You don’t know what he means to me.”

With that, she drops a couple of twenties on the bar top and stalks away, snagging Finn as he exits the bathroom and dragging him outside. She may be in a fight to the death with this girl over Finn’s affections, but she’s not going to invite the karmic wrath of being a bad tipper.

\------

The girl is drunk. Lexa would feel bad about it, but the girl did decide to plant herself at the end of Lexa’s bar of her own accord. The girl also decided to order drink after drink without any prompting, and Lexa is the bartender, so it’s technically her job to deliver them. So she delivers them, with a growing side of guilt. Where the evening had started with harsh glares, the passage of time has given way to an abjectly miserable melancholy and even though she absolutely doesn’t understand why, she knows it somehow all revolves around her.

Lexa sighs and closes out the girl’s tab for her. “My shift’s over in 10 minutes. Let me help you home."

\------

She ends up with her back pressed against the brick wall behind the pub with Clarke’s face pressed into her neck, hot tears burning against her. Then again, they’re not the only thing burning against her, because Clarke has also somehow managed to sneak a hand under her tank and up to cup her breast, making Lexa yelp in surprise.

Clarke looks up at her, face adorably earnest even as Lexa gently tugs her hand down. “I was foolish, thinking he’d pick me,” she’s saying, fingers already creeping back up Lexa’s ribs. “You could have anyone you choose. I can’t compete with you and your sexy collarbone and adorable tiny ears.”

Despite the chaos this girl has introduced into her life, Lexa can’t help but be gentle when she says, “I think you might want to re-evaluate your attraction to Finn, or maybe just boys in general. I don’t want to presume, but you do keep trying to touch my breasts.”

The look Clarke gives her is impossibly forlorn, and something about seeing it hurts. “They’re so soft,” she says sadly, somehow managing to cop another feel, and Lexa sighs. She should not be letting this confused, drunk girl continue to fondle her, but it’s hard to both keep Clarke upright and corral her wandering hands.

\------

Clarke is behind her, arms wrapped tight around her waist and pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to the back of her neck when Lexa knocks on what she hopes is the door to Clarke’s apartment. Clarke had seemed confident, but then again, she’d also seemed confident on the previous attempt when she’d confidently led them to a grocery store.

She gets a fierce, guarded stare from the person on the other side when the door opens, but Lexa doesn’t have time to be intimidated because Clarke’s hand has somehow made it under the hem of her shirt again.

“Does Clarke live here?” she asks tiredly, because if not, they’re going to have to try again and Lexa doesn’t know if she has the stamina for it.

The girl in front of her crosses her arms and narrows her eyes. “Who are you?”

“My name is Lexa. Look, can you please just tell me if she lives here?” she asks, gesturing behind her to whatever part of Clarke might be visible. “She got really drunk at my bar and I’m just trying to get her home.”

“You’re Lexa?”

Lexa puts her hand over Clarke’s, trapping it against her side before it can reach its intended destination.

“Yes.”

The girl studies her for another minute before stepping back and sweeping her arm out to the side in an invitation to enter. “She was right. You probably do have spectacular sex hair.”

Lexa doesn’t even want to know.

“Can you help me out?”

Clarke matches her step for step, not loosening her grip even a bit. It’s been an awkward way to ambulate, but far more successful than some of the other versions they’d tried.

The girl Lexa sincerely hopes is Clarke’s roommate steps in close, and for a moment she’s worried she’s going to have to figure out some way to politely decline an unexpected threesome. It’s just the way her night is going.

“Clarke, sweetheart,” the girl says, and Lexa feels Clarke’s chin come to rest on her shoulder, “what the fuck?”

“Octavia!” Lexa can hear the pleased surprise in Clarke’s voice and it’s a relief. Even if Clarke doesn’t live here, she’s probably still okay to pass out on the couch. “Lexa brought me home.”

“I can see that, dumbass. Let her go.” Lexa can only see one half of the ensuing, unspoken battle, but it’s enough to know it’s fierce. “Clarke,” Octavia adds threateningly.

To her surprise, Lexa feels Clarke’s arms retract. She takes a moment to stretch and to rub at her aching sides, because Clarke’s grip had been _tight_.

“I can leave her with you, right?”

They watch as Clarke slumps down onto the couch, staring at them both mutinously. Lexa finds it oddly endearing. She feels like a favorite toy that’s being withheld, and she can’t deny it’s flattering.

Octavia sighs. “Or you could take her with you.”

“It doesn’t seem like a good idea.”

“Yeah,” Octavia concedes. “She’s going to be a nightmare in the morning.” She pauses and looks Lexa up and down assessingly. “Are you really hot for Finn Collins?”

“Not at all, no.”

“So he just told Clarke that to try and make her jealous?”

Lexa shrugs. “I cannot be held responsible for his schemes, especially when I explicitly told him not to involve me in them.”

“Huh.” Octavia nods thoughtfully. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure that one didn’t work out the way he wanted at all.”

\------

Octavia feels okay about not feeling pity for Clarke, no matter how miserable she looks, because she brought it on herself.

“So, Lexa seems nice.”

“Stop.” Clarke burrows deeper into the couch, pulling the blanket up over her head.

“You should probably apologize to her for trying to feel her up. Or for successfully feeling her up.”

“Stop.”

“She’s really pretty.”

“Please. I’m begging you. Stop.”

“I’m just saying. If you’re going to have some kind of sexuality-related crisis, she’s a good person to have it over.”

“I’m not having a crisis.” As soon as she says it, Clarke stops to consider. “Am I?” she asks, pulling the blanket down so that she can see Octavia judging her from the kitchen where she’s fetching Clarke a massive glass of water. “Am I having a crisis?”

“You’ve _been_ having a crisis.” Octavia rolls her eyes. “A really embarrassing crisis. I’m embarrassed for you. That’s how embarrassing you’ve been about the whole thing.”

“Oh, god.”

“You have a crush on Lexa. You should be embarrassed by how massively obvious you’ve been about crushing on Lexa. Also, you got drunk and handsy.”

For a moment, Clarke gets distracted. “Her skin is so soft. So are her breasts. So soft.”

She’s startled when Octavia shoves the glass of water at her, because apparently she’s been a little lost in the memory.

“Drink up. I’m not having a conversation with you about your possible bisexuality while you’re this drunk.”

Bisexual. Clarke considers it. It… makes a lot of sense, actually.

“Oh my god, O. I’m bisexual.”

“Well, congratulations. We’ll send off for your membership card in the morning.” She points at the still full glass of water before giving Clarke an encouraging pat on the head. “Drink all of that. Don’t make me tell you again.”

\------

Lexa nearly screams when Clarke appears out of the gloom.

“Hey,” Clarke says, hands stuffed awkwardly in her pockets, but Lexa can’t reply, too busy trying not to expire from a shock-induced heart attack. “So, are you finished with your shift? I was kind of hoping we could talk.”

She holds out a hand, not sure she can take another round in the strange game they seem to have going on between them. “I don’t want Finn. I never wanted Finn. I will never want Finn. I’m not even into guys. He’s all yours.”

“Oh, yeah. I don’t actually want him either.” Clarke takes a hesitant step closer, and it’s enough for Lexa to register the flush of extreme embarrassment on her face. “I wanted to apologize to you. You sort of, I don’t know, were the catalyst for my bisexual awakening, and I didn’t really handle it well. I’m sorry for being so weird and also for all of those times I tried to touch your breasts last night. It was completely unacceptable. And, thanks for getting me home. It was really nice of you, and I’m pretty sure I didn’t deserve it.”

Lexa isn’t sure she’s ever been personally responsible for making a girl realize she’s attracted to girls before. She’s… proud, maybe?

“It’s okay,” she says, because she realizes Clarke is looking at her in hopes of a response. “Apology accepted. And, you’re welcome.”

“Great. That’s great. That’s… would you maybe want to go out sometime? With me? On a date?”

Clarke’s expression shifts from shy and embarrassed to resolute and a little scared. It makes Lexa’s heart race for a different reason. When she’s not glaring at Lexa as if she wants to cause grievous bodily injury, Clarke is startlingly intriguing. Also, very pretty.

“I think I would like that, Clarke.”

She pretends to ignore Clarke’s triumphant fist pump.

\------

_Some indeterminate amount of dates later…_

“Remind me to tell Octavia that I was right,” Clarke says, leaning down to press a soft kiss against the corner of Lexa’s mouth. “Your sex hair _is_ spectacular.”

Lexa blushes deeply but loses the will to contest the assertion as Clarke's kisses move relentlessly southward.

"So soft," she hears and moans.


End file.
